Chapter 8
LESSONS FROM A CARDBOARD DICK
Ledger
When I get there, I’m raring to bang on the door with the kind of ferocity seen when the muscle shows up in a movie. Hell, when Aiden opens it, I’m going to have to refrain from slamming a fist into that coward’s piehole.
I’m clenching and unclenching my fists as we march through the lobby of the Airport Inn like a Reservoir Dogs posse, long strides eating up the carpet, Aubrey keeping pace with us, powered by her thirst for romance vengeance.
We must look like a gang of misfits, her in her hacked-up dress, stockings and boots, Dev sporting his new pancake special shirt, and me in my Crocs that squeak as we head down the hallway, a giant cardboard schlong under my arm.
I can’t wait to deliver it.
When I turn the corner, I scan the digits on the doors. Almost there. A few more rooms.
Number 131 looms, but before we reach it, I stick out my arm, stopping Aubrey. Dev stops too.
“What is it?” she whispers.
“You still good with this?”
“Yes. Are you having second thoughts?”
I scoff. “Nope. I just want to make sure you’re all in.”
She gives a soft smile. “Love that you asked, but the answer is yes. Go get ’em…tiger.”
Mmm…that word. That nickname. Not that I don’t like Stern Brunch Daddy—I like it too much. Just like I’m enjoying her saying tiger with a little throaty purr to her pretty voice. Just like I’m enjoying everything about her more than I should.
But now’s not the time to go soft.
It’s not the time to be a dick either. Just to deliver one.
I release my clenched fist and try to loosen the valve on some of my anger. We cover the final feet to the room, set up the life-size dong, and then Aubrey raps twice on the door.
“Hey, babe,” she says, but her lips twist in disgust at the end, and I can tell it cost her something to even say those two words.
Seconds later, the door creaks open, and some sort of shtupping music floats out. The chorus of Ginuwine’s “Pony.” I roll my eyes, muttering, “Jesus.”
That’s on every sex playlist. It requires zero imagination.
Dev shoots me a shut the fuck up look.
My derision got the better of my discretion. I mime zipping my lips as Aiden asks from behind the door, “Sweetie pie? Is that you or is that room service?”
Fuck. I hope I didn’t ruin our plan.
Aubrey straightens her spine, plastering on a faux sexy grin even though he can’t see her yet. “Hey, babe. It’s me. In my bridal dress. And yes, I have room service,” she says, in an over-the-top throaty voice that she follows with a mimed gag, just for us.
With a relieved sigh, Aiden tugs the door all the way open, voila style, showing off his…are you kidding me? He’s wearing wrinkled boxers?
I loathe him.
His eyes widen to saucers, flashing from Dev to me and back, confusion in those irises. “You brought…your brother’s friends, babe?”
“She sure did,” I say.
Aiden holds up his hands apologetically, waving us off with a chuckle. “Look, I had a blast at the party last night. And, seriously, guys, I appreciate the compliment big time. But,” he says, taking his time to sigh regretfully, “I’m not into dudes.”
Of course Mister Horny McFuckerson thinks we’re all here for the bang date. Of course he can’t conceive we’d be here for any other reason. Like, he’s a prick.
“We’re not here for that. We’re here with a delivery,” Dev says as he shoves the cardboard at Aiden.
I pat the head of the cutout. “Yes, Mister Cardboard Dick is here to teach you a few lessons,” I singsong as I turn to the standing dick balanced on its formidable cardboard balls. “Because he has more balls than you. Want to know why?”
Oops. That came off angrier than I’d expected. Guess I didn’t cool off. Aiden’s grin burns off. Cockiness is replaced with worry. “W-why?” he stammers.
I stare down the gutless wonder. “Because you don’t get a fucking plane ticket before you call off a wedding.
You don’t run the fuck away and make the bride and her brother tell all the guests,” I spit out, fueled by the red-hot flames licking my veins.
Possibly I’ve got some of my own kindling from the charred remains of my failed marriage stoking the fire.
I’ve just had enough of chameleon exes who hide their true natures then kick you out with the trash. Mine and Aubrey’s now too.
“And you don’t do it ten minutes before the ceremony,” Dev adds, stepping closer to the doorway and using his size to overpower Aiden. Not a bad idea.
I crowd him, too, while Aubrey wedges herself next to Dev, watching the scene with wild delight in her eyes.
Dev’s not done. He lifts a finger, pokes Aiden’s sternum. The one-time groom quakes. What a beautiful sight. “Here’s a lesson too. Don’t hit on the goddamn waitress at your bachelor party,” Dev says, low and menacing.
“I wasn’t hit—”
“—You were, man. You fucking were. And here’s another lesson.
” Dev lets go and cracks his knuckles instead.
He takes his sweet time making sure the sound snaps, crackles, pops to the sex beat floating from Aiden’s room.
“When you ask a woman to marry you—hell, when you ask her to be yours, you don’t flirt, sext, kiss, or fuck anyone else. Even Mister Cardboard Dick knows that.”
Aiden gulps, holds up his hands in surrender. “I was just messing around.”
I mime slamming a buzzer. “Wrong. You mess around with a pie. With bubble wrap. With a video game. You don’t mess around with someone’s heart.”
Dev shoves the dick at him. “Man the fuck up and grow some balls,” he says as Aiden stumbles, grabbing onto the cardboard phallus then batting it away from him. It tumbles to the stained carpet of the hotel room.
I turn to Aubrey, gritting my teeth, rage storming through me.
It requires all my restraint not to pummel him.
I can’t believe Aubrey let herself think she lied.
I can’t stand that she was embarrassed over how he treated her.
I hate that she spent the whole day worrying what we’d think because of this jackass.
“Do you have anything you want to add?” I ask.
Aubrey draws a deep breath, then taps her chin.
“I think that covers it. Except…there is one little thing.” She steps forward into the room, appraises her ex up and down, then says, “You said earlier we had some good sex. But, in the immortal words of Inigo Montoya, I do not think that word means what you think it means.” Then she leans closer and stage-whispers, “Good luck learning the mandolin.”
She turns on her booted heel and struts down the hall. I can’t do a thing but watch her walk off, all badass and bold as she gets the last word in.
What a glorious sight. I watch her till she turns the corner, and when she does, my anger has vanished. It’s replaced by white-hot admiration for the woman.
When I turn around, I just smile and shake my head. “Man, you were this close to having her. You really fucked up,” I say.
Dev chuckles, curling a hand around Aiden’s bare shoulder. “It’s all downhill from here, bro.” He takes a pause, then lifts his brow. “Also, a mandolin?”
“They sound cool. Women love them,” Aiden says, and who’s embarrassed now?
Dev laughs harder. “No, man. No one does.”
We turn to go, leaving a giant dick with a giant dick.
Outside the hotel entrance, Aubrey’s pacing. Her cheeks are glowing, her eyes are sparkling. When we push open the brass-paneled door, she rushes over, grabs my shoulders, and says, “You’re my hero.”
She dusts a quick, thank you kiss on my cheek. It knocks the breath from my lungs.
“Oh,” I say, startled and aroused.
I’ve leveled up in today’s game—my attraction to Aubrey is officially unlocked.
Her lips are so damn soft. When she breaks the kiss, Dev’s watching us, his assessing eyes missing nothing.
He’s a goalie, so his job is to be a hawk.
To read all the action on the ice. Pretty sure he’s reading me loud and clear right now, just like he read me when we met Zahra in Los Angeles several years ago, and Dev knew before I did that we both wanted her.
He’s too fucking astute.
She spins around, grabs his shoulders, and stares at him, beaming. “You’re my hero too,” she says, then brushes a kiss onto his bearded jaw.
He has the benefit of seeing it coming, so he lifts a hand in record time and covers her palm on his shoulder, buying himself a few extra seconds.
When she ends it, she draws the biggest breath in the world. “Thank you. I feel like I can face my family now. I need to talk to my mom before—”
But then her smile disappears. The sparkles in her eyes flicker off. She winces, then slumps against the brick hotel wall, dragging a hand through her gorgeous red locks.
“What is it?” I ask, worried.
“Are you okay?” Dev seconds.
Her brow is furrowed, her lips twisted.
“Tomorrow,” she gasps like she’s short on air. “I’m supposed to leave for my honeymoon tomorrow. We have non-refundable tickets.”